


Friend or Foe

by GarnetSeren



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Loki, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Mouth Sewn Shut, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8568067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: Inspired by a VERY old prompt over on the Thor kmeme:Loki gets trapped in a dangerous situation with one or more of the Avengers. The situation is up to the author, but in any case, they have to work together in order to survive. Then again, survival may not be worth it if they have to associate with each other on friendly terms.Bonus points!:-Loki injures himself in order to help them escape.-Loki has the chance to save himself by abandoning the Avenger(s), and surprises everyone when he chooses not to. When asked why, Loki insists that it's because he created the Avengers, so he's the only one allowed to kill them. No one believes this, of course.-If Loki and one of the Avengers stop in the middle of their escape to have an argument, then proceed to escape despite this, preferably while yelling/snarking at each other the entire time.





	1. Loki

“...ust like Budapest all over again.”

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”

Loki cracked his eyes open at the sound of their voices. He didn't see much at first, just indistinct shapes. Smoky grey shadows, only distinguishable from the surrounding darkness, because of the pale shafts of wan light filtered into the room from somewhere about him. One shape, of average male height with well proportioned shoulders, was leant against the far wall. It's seemed to be stood at a slightly odd angel, back slightly arched with hands above their head... but since it was obviously still early in the morning, judging from the pale light, the shape was probably stretching. Loki glanced over to the other shadow, who was much slender in build and sat neatly on a nearby chair, which lead him believe it was a woman. Everything was still very blurry though, literally, since his eyes still refused to focus, and his mind felt... strange. Vaguely, he wondered if had been carousing last night... not that it happened often, but if Fandral had been in charge of the revelries, then the mead would have flown exceedingly freely, and most likely with an added kick to it.  
  
Though perplexing enough, Loki didn't feel like he'd been merrymaking the night before. That wasn't to say that he wasn't suffering. His eyes stubbornly refused to open, his head pounded, and his throat was hoarse... yet he didn't feel sick to his boots, as he always did after Fendral's jollifications. Actually, if he thought about it, his eyes were actually very soar. Like they were burning, and the skin around them felt taunt. His arms were also rather painful, similar to the time he'd stupidly accepted Volstagg's challenge, to an endurance test on the Rings. Loki had lasted two hours, before he had to admit defeat and jump down. But now he thought about, his arms hurt much worse than then. His ribs didn't feel much better either and there was something annoying dripping... no running down his back, which was oddly stinging. But he didn't feel hot, so why was he sweating? His eyes were really starting to itch and sting, Loki moved his right arm, intent on rubbing the obvious sleep out of his eyes, since he still couldn't open them properly. And why was his mouth and lips started to sting as well? By Odin's beard, what had Fendral laced his mead with this time?

CLINK

Loki froze. He tried to move his arm again. _Clink._ Then his left. _Clink._ And again. _Clink_. And again. _Clink_. His breathing came out in short, sharp exhalations through his nose. He was trapped, his arms suspended above his head, his toes barely touching the ground. He tried to calm his breathing, after all, this was nothing more than one of Fendral's pranks, Loki'd reasoned. It wasn't like the fencer hadn't pulled this stunt before, though usually poor Hogan was trapped with him. Normally, Loki would just magic himself free, but his magic was... depleted. Still, it was of no consequence, he decide that he would graciously accept a wound to his pride, and simply call for help to be released. There was bound to be a serving maid nearby, that could free him from Fendral's prank. But as he went to open his mouth, white hot pain seared through his lips. He tried again, but couldn't move his mouth. His lips were sealed... no stitched, shut. He whimpered pitifully. Loki's heart began to beat almost painfully against his ribs, his breathing rapidly speeding up, bile began to rise in his thought, he couldn't breathe. He twisted, and frantically yanked on the chains that held him, but to no avail. It made the stinging in his back much worse, and in one horrifying moment on clarity, Loki realised that it was blood, not sweat that dripped down his back. He'd been whipped, until he bled. He whimpered again. Who had done this to him? Why?

“Um... Tash? I think Reindeer Games has woken open,” the male voice said.

“Captain obvious,” the female muttered.

“As much as I'd normally love to put an arrow in his eye, shouldn't we... um... try and help?”

The female sighed before snapping: “Loki!”

Her tone was so sharp and commandeering, it stopped his panic. Dead. He knew that voice. It was the spider, which meant it was likely the male was the archer. His panic turned to dread, and then to anger. With renewed energy, Loki struggled against his bounds, glaring at the seated shadow. That mewling had done this to him, had trapped and disfigured him. He would destroy her for this. Destroy both of them, mentally then physically. Make both their most intimate and terrifying fears come to life! The thoughts made Loki pause in his struggle, when memories of recent events came flooding back.

Most were sketchy, but he could vaguely remember what transpired on Asgard, before and after his ill fated attack on Midgard. Loki frowned. Though he still felt the rage and betrayal at Odin's lies, he couldn't clearly recall why he'd attacked Thor's pet realm. He remembered the fall, still unsure if he'd let go or been dropped, but he remembered the fall. The endless tumble through nothingness, the bleak and pressing sense of isolation, the way his mind began to unravel... until the _Other_ found him. Dread panic gripped him again, and he desperately took up the effort of trying to free himself once again.

“Loki, you need to stop and listen,” the spider continued.

He yanked on his chains harder, determined to break free, and wrap his hands around her throat. The _Other_ must have sent them, must be controlling them, just as he himself had done the archer. Retribution was promised if he failed. Loki wasn't sure how he was the pair had made it to Asgard, or how they had infiltrated the palace dungeons, but they had. Somehow. And surely at the _Other's_ biding.

“Look man, I may have wanted you dead for the whole mind control thing,” the archer stated. “But that... fuck! That's just fucked up.”

The man's words halted Loki's thrashing. Hadn't they been sent by the _Other_? The archer _had_ wanted, past tense, and there was a distinct note of disgusted when he said 'that', which Loki presumed meant the state of him. Which was... interesting. He turned his blurry gaze to what must be the archer against the wall. The man was still lounging against it, in the most peculiar fashion.

“I'm many things, but I'm not a fucking torturer,” the archer grit out.

“Not to mention it's hard to torture someone, when you're also held prisoner,” the spider quipped.

“Tasha...” the archer sighed.

“I'd love a hour alone with you, to be able to sink my blades in between each of your ribs, and make you suffer for what you did...” she continued. The 'to him' was very loudly unspoken. “But even I admit it looks like you've paid.”

“We were following a lead on a Hydra cell... you probably have no idea what that is,” the archer explained. “The intel was mostly good, but someone must have tipped them off. We were ambushed, overwhelmed, knocked out, then woke up here.”

“To you, looking like that. We've been... awake, about a hour. Judging by the light through the window, it's close to dawn. Clint's chained to the wall, you're suspended from the ceiling, and they've tied me to a chair. Predictably,” the spider continued, sounding almost bored.

Loki digested all that they'd said. Even with his powers stripped away, he was the God of Lies, so detecting deceit was still easy... and he surprisingly found that what they said was true. Which only brought up more worrying questions. Such as where was he? Why could he not remember leaving Asgard? What had been done to him? Who had captured him? Had the torture addled or altered his mind? The only think Loki could safely discern was that he was presumably somewhere on Midgard, and this 'Hydra' possibly had involvement.

“As much as I hate to say it, we need to work together,” the archer stated, reluctantly.

Before Loki could even nod his head in agreement, a door... presumably to the room they were being held, was thrown open with a bang. Three pairs of footsteps marched in, and a squeaking cart was rolled in with them. Through his blurry vision, Loki could make out three hulking shapes, men who's physiques could rival Thor. They made a beeline to the spider, and one grabbed her face menacingly.

 

 

 


	2. Clint

Clint never tired of watching his partner kicking the crap out of men decidedly bigger than she was. There was just something so _satisfying_ , about watching Natasha head butt one thug, before front flipping and smashing the chair she was tied to, across the bastard's back. There was something undeniably graceful about the flying thigh-lock-thing she did, and despite being a man, even he could appreciate the 'slide in between your legs and hit you in the dick' move she enjoyed doing. There was some sort of poetic justice in it, at least to him, since the bad guys always stupidly underestimated Natasha. Not that Clint was complaining,. Since she was the deadlier of the two of them, the day the thugs figured out that she was the one who should be chained to the wall, was the day their exit strategy would get a lot more complicated. But as it was, it was an almost text book take down of the Hydra goons... Clint was half convinced she practised the routine as much as she practised her ballet, and soon Natasha was unlocking the cuffs than bound him to the wall. He cracked his back appreciatively, once he could move again. Then, they turned their attention to Loki. As much as Clint wanted to hate the Bastard, he just... couldn't. Looking at the demi-god now, the dark bruises across his torso, the very obvious lash marks across his back, the gruesomely stitched closed mouth, and worst of all... the acid damaged eyes, Clint found very little left to hate. So without any hesitation, he hoisted Natasha up on his shoulders, so she could reach to unlock Loki's cuffs.

As the once proud demigod all but collapsed to the floor, Clint set his partner down gently, then went to inspect the corpses. It didn't take him long to find a hunting knife on one of the goons, and returned to Loki. There was a part of him that really wanted to think the bastard was getting what he deserved, after the whole mind control thing and trying to take over New York, but Clint couldn't find it in himself to hate Loki that much. Sure, he had wanted the demigod dead for a long time after the attack, but he had never wished torture upon him. Slowly, Clint knelt in front of Loki and held up the knife in front of his face. He doubted the demigod could see all that much, but it was still better to be safe than sorry. If Loki lashed out in fright, Clint couldn't guarantee he wouldn't retaliate, which wouldn't help any of them. Right now, whether he liked it or not, they had to work together.

“Loki, I'm going to cut the stitches. Okay?” he asked.

The demigod's reply came in the form of a rather pathetic attempt at a glare.

“Yeah, and I _love_ the idea of helping you asshole,” Clint grumbled. “But if we want to get out of here, we don't have a lot of choice.”

 _Just think that you're doing it for Thor._ Natasha signed, just out of Loki's line of sight. _I know I am._

Smiling to himself, Clint took hold of the demigod's chin with his right hand, whilst his partner went to act as look out. Then as carefully as he could, he slid the blade in between Loki's lips, and slowly began to cut through the cord binding his mouth shut. It might have been easier, if there hand been something to wet the sorcerer's lips with... to soften them, but no such luck. With each sliced piece of twine, blood began to ooze from the puncture wounds, and it churned Clint's stomach. He'd seen a lot of sick shit in his life, but this was right up there in the top ten... which was really saying something. Once the cord was fully cut, Clint went in search for something to help pull it free, since the constant flow of blood was making to difficult. Perhaps unsurprisingly, e found a pair of pliers in the cart the goons had wheeled in, and he shook his head at the predictability... though why thugs always resulted to teeth pulling, he would never know, not that it mattered. So with help literally at hand, he went back to finish off the job. To give Loki credit, as much as he was loathed to do, Clint was impressed that the demigod only whimpered in pain once, whilst he was carefully pulling the gore covered fibres from Loki's mouth.

“If you boys are done, we should really make a break for it,” Natasha called.

Without hesitation, Clint grabbed the demigod by the arm, and hauled him to his feet... perhaps a little harder than need be. But when Natasha said move, you moved. They'd be partners long enough that he knew to never doubt her. Several minutes passed, as Clint followed his partner down various grey corridors, pulling Loki behind him, before he yanked the demigod into cover behind a stack of crates. After exchanging a fleeting glance with Natasha, the redhead crept into what appeared to be an armoury of some sort, and Clint desperately hoped she'd find his bow... it was his favourite one. However, before he could ponder over what she'd find, Loki distracted him by forcefully shaking off his grip.

“Unhand me you cretin,” the demigod hissed. “How dare you manhandle me.”

“If you haven't noticed, you're kind of fucking blind,” Clint snarled back.

“I can see just fine.”

“Fucking bullshit. I should let you walk into a bloody wall.”

“I can see better than you can hear.”

“You ungrateful bastard, I should have left your mouth sewn shut.”

“If you're quite done bickering, _children_ , you might want to get your shit together so we can get out of here,” Natasha hissed.

Clint had been so busy arguing with Loki, that he hadn't noticed his partner return. She looked... well to anyone else, she look perfectly fine, poised and cool like always. But he could tell she was pissed... he'd be a pretty rubbish best friend and partner if he couldn't. So Clint offered Natasha a sheepish smile as she handed him his bow and quiver, and he was relieved to see no one had tried to tamper with his weapon. He gave her a once over, taking note of her still missing utility belt, but at least she had her twin Glock 26 pistols holstered to her thighs again. She was handing another gun in her hands, and Clint couldn't help but smirk when she offered it to him... he hadn't a sidearm since Loki's takeover, and it was oddly nice to have a Heckler & Koch P30 back in his possession. Especially with the mad demigod mere inches from him.

 _You always get me the nicest things._ Clint signed.

 _Don't I know it. Where's your head at?_ Natasha signed in reply.

_On trying not to kill this bastard. For Thor's sake, if nothing else._

Natasha smirked. _Good call._

Clint rolled his eyes. _How'd our lives turn into babysitting crazed demigods?_

“What are you two doing?” Loki demanded, angrily.

“Stategising,” Natasha replied, breezily.

He barely bit back a chuckle. “So stop your bitching, and stay behind us.”

“You would trust me at your back?” the demigod asked, incredulous.

“I trust you about as far as I could throw your brother,” Clint snarked. “But you're weaponless. If you could do magic, you'd have healed yourself by now. So unless you're going to be our meat shield, the best place for you is behind us.”

 


	3. Natasha

As much as Natasha hated the idea of Loki behind her, she agreed with Clint that it was the right call. They encountered surprisingly... or perhaps suspiciously... little resistance on their way to the exit, and they could actual see the door to the outside word, just as several shots were fire behind them. Natasha whirled, prepared to engage their enemy, only to be forceably shoved to the ground. Her ears rung, after smacking her head against the grimy tiled floor, and she barely registered the bang from Clint's exploding arrow detonating. Not that it mattered, since she was more concerned about the heavy weight pressing her to the floor. It took several seconds to realise the weight belonged to Loki, and she was just about to grab one of her hidden knives, when the demi-god sat back on his haunches with a hiss. His hands quickly fly to his left side, clutching frantically at his ribs, not the it helped, since blood still oozed over his tightly clasped fingers.

“Hostiles?” she asked Clint.

“Neutralised,” he replied, curtly.

With unspoken agreement, they each took hold of one of Loki's arms, and somehow got him to stand. He was woozy on his feet, and despite her instincts screaming not to, Natasha wrapped an arm around his slender waist, to keep him upright. Instead of immediately heading to the exit, which was undoubtedly guarded by an ambush, they guided Loki into a nearby storage room, and sat him on a palate of boxes. With a look, Natasha sent Clint to raid the first aid box that was hung on the wall, whilst she procured her hidden knife from her left boot. There was no way to sugar coat what she was about to do, it was going to hurt like a bitch. But still, Natasha found herself laying a comforting hand on Loki's shoulder... which had nothing to do with a sense of debt, from realising he got shot, because he pushed her out the way.

“I need to dig the bullet out,” she explained, coolly. “I need you not to scream.”

Loki snorted. “I will endeavour to deliver a satisfactory performance for you, little spider.”

Because he had just pushed her out of harms way, Natasha chose to ignore the nickname, and instead opted for pushing the demi-god to lean back, before getting to work. Credit where begrudging credit was due, Loki only grunted in pain three times, as she skilfully dug the two bullets out of his chest. Natasha hated to admit it, but she was impressed with that, mainly because she knew how painful it was to dig bullets out with a throwing knife. Just as she prised out the last bullet fragment, Clint handed her a sterilised needle with threat. Her eyes briefly flickered to Loki's face, intent on gauging how he was holding up. A sheen of sweat coated his brow, and his hands tightly gripped the edge of the crate he leant on, but other than that, he was devoid of any signs of weakness. Once again, Natasha begrudgingly respected that.

“Whatever you are planning to do, prey get on with it,” Loki snarked.

Rolling her eyes, she set about stitching together the wounds, and tried not to smirk when the demi-god hissed in pain, as she pulled the thread tight. Before long, all three holes were closed, and Clint was tightly bandaging Loki's torso, whilst she whipped the blood of her hands.

 _Thor better appreciate this._ Her partner signed, once he was finished.

 _I'll make sure he gets you a month's worth of pizza._ She signed in reply.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the other side of the door, that had Natasha and Clint exchanging glances. Without a word, she took point, whilst he covered her. Slowly, she inched the door open, both pistols raised, but once she had peered into the corridor, she quickly lowered her guns. Laughing outright, she kicked the door open fully, revealing a trio of very dusty looking Avengers. Rogers, Stark and Thor were all covered with a light layer of grey, and concrete dust was still swirling in the breeze, let in by the gaping hole in the wall.

“Subtle,” Clint smirked.

“I am glad you are unharmed, Lady Romanoff, Eye of Hawk,” Thor greeted, jovially. Until his eyes fell to the figure behind them. “Brother?”

Natasha had expected some scathing remark from Loki, but instead, he just turned his head to obscure his face with his tangle of black hair. Not that it did much to dissuade Thor from coming to crouch down in front of Loki. The thunder god's feelings were written clear across his face, and as horrible as it was to think, Natasha supposed it was for the best that Loki couldn't see much of anything. Several moments ticked by, with Clint and Stark fidgeting uncomfortably, whilst Natasha nodded to answer Steve silent question; that yes, she was fine. All the time, Thor was having a surprisingly quite conversation with Loki, and Natasha genuinely hadn't know the thunder god had any volume other than 'declaration', until today. Eventually Thor stood up, sighing.

“It seems they knew your history well,” he commented.

For a moment, Natasha wondered what he meant, before realisation dawned. When Loki had controlled Clint, she'd read the old Norse Myths looking for any clues... she remembered the story of the venomous snake, as well as the story of the Treasure of Gods, and barely repressed a shudder. Natasha couldn't believe it, she was actually feeling a little sorry for the bastard... she hated Loki all the more for that. Though that cooled again, when she noticed the demi-god smirk the best he could with a badly damaged mouth, before answering Clint's question of: why did you protect Tasha?

“Because hawkling,” Loki drawled. “If anyone is to kill the Avengers, it will be me.”

 

 

 


End file.
